


sunflower of the backwoods spire

by inkroller



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: ...except for one passing line, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, POV Alternating, bc it's tangled i should tag the gays but they don't interact like that, mentions h'aanit + linde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkroller/pseuds/inkroller
Summary: And deep, deep within the outskirts, in a tower high above all but the celestial clouds, a sunflower tries to bloom.(or: another world, at the very start, where alfyn greengrass is the lost prince of a kingdom, and therion is the thief who finds both them and their dreams home. )





	sunflower of the backwoods spire

Therion’s panicked.

The forest quavers under footsteps and looks eagerly at their sources - though, for what godsawful reason, he has no idea why. Paltry thieves always _love_ to run around the Kingdom of Orsterra like they own the place, so this should be nothing new to the roots and flora.

As for him, though? This isn’t a normal outcome of his heists. He’s a lot better than this, he swears to his awful, chortling brain, especially when he can’t count the days since he last had a mob after him on his two hands - but this time he’ll have to curse the need for partners and to be an incessant prick to every guard he sees.

( _Oh, well, they were just_ asking _for it. If they want to protect something, then they_ really _need to stop hiring hurdlers for guards._ )

But as much as he wants to make fun of them further, the guards are terribly persistent, and worse yet, hot on his trail. Leading them is a guard so out of place that Therion’s honestly bewildered - he’s not really sure if he’s imagining things because of the heat, or if he’s truly looking over his shoulder to see a guard with gilded armor and fur and eyes bent on bloody murder.

He gets the unfortunate answer when she takes both hands off the scruff of her steed, ( _who is in no way a steed,_  ) nocks an arrow in her bow, and fires directly at him; and when that arrow manages to graze through his sleeves, he has to acknowledge that this guard is entirely real, and entirely has the ability to kill him if she so pleases. He tries very, _very_ hard not to acknowledge all her words are torn from Shakespearean sonnets, however - perhaps it’d be better to furiously translate it, just to understand her next strike, but he needs an out of this situation -- and _fast._

Oh, gods, he stumbles, turns a corner, what’s another thief to do, what’s a tea leaf in a backwoods forest got to do to take the greatest treasure and go, what does he need to do -

In the midst of all his worrying, he spots his great route to escape, and his face grows alight.

Under a tangle of thick and twisting branches is a thin, small hollow - just barely large enough for him to fit through if he tries, and certainly not passable for anyone taller, nor any mount the royal guards ride. With a good look at the mob and a smirk, Therion grabs one last laugh at Orsterra’s _‘best’_ \- and then, he falls, sliding rapidly under the wood and staggering a few steps forward to catch himself before turning.

It’s like he’s looking through the bars of a cell: except, this time, he’s thrown all the guards into it, and their horses and leopards, too. **“ Well, I sure won’t be seeing any of** **_you_ ** **around, will I? Tell them a great tea leaf sent you empty-handed for me! ”**

He doesn’t bother with the clamoring roars, or of the captain’s fervent monologue of his incoming punishment; he merely pushes past the great brambles instead, waiting to see where this winding forest takes him.

* * *

Alfyn’s absolutely, totally, completely panicking.

After twenty-one years of burying yourself a hundred feet up in the air, you have to realize that there’s only so much else anyone can do! Something new’s happened for the first time in _years,_  and he knows he can’t just throw the chance to see where it leads away – be it destiny or hope or whatever else is pushing him to follow it.  There’s a feeling of worry that comes with all of it, something that seems a lot more like elation, but so new that it appears almost  _magnificent_ in Alfyn’s eyes for a few moments.

Those moments pass and he realizes, the prickle’s edge still glinting in his hand, that he could have nearly killed someone, or he could have nearly died.

No time to waste - he has to check. Anything could’ve gone wrong in those seconds — knocking a stranger unconscious, after all, is _not_ a normal activity in his daily list, and isn’t even something he’d planned to do in his life!

( _It’s not as if he had ever the chance to meet someone else, anyways, so… it makes sense, right?_ )

Alfyn’s hand drifts over a radial pulse, slow but steady, and he breathes a sigh of relief. No murder today – or ever, really, for that matter. He leans back on the wall to rest, eventually looking down at the stranger when time stretches too thin. Maybe Alfyn's one to say it, but he seems… _odd,_  from first thoughts: much shorter, perhaps a head or so; white hair; dried cuts where his sleeves don’t fall far enough; callused hands that somehow climbed over the bricks to get here; the solace on his face not from soporifics, but from… something else, perhaps merely the tower.

Wait, the tower.

His hair — his _guardian_ — oh, gods, this makes so much sense and so little all at once -

**“ Alfyn! ”**

Oh, fuck.

**“ I’ll be there in a minute! ”** he yells over the same old greet as before, eyes frantically searching for a place he can hide this mysterious traveler until the other resident climbs out the tower. Not there, not there,  _ definitely _ not there, he’ll see when the lights pull open, not there,  _ agh  _ —

Then the sudden idea of shoving him into his closet in his room doesn’t seem like a terrible plan, and he follows it through, carrying the man over his shoulders until he reaches it, resting him safely against the wood before he closes the door. He takes something the other left behind in his wake - a bag, he thinks, but he’s not really focusing in this minute - and hides it under some of his papers and books on one of the lesser-looked shelves.

**“ Alfyn, I don’t need t’wait** **_years_ ** **out here, will I? I’m not getting any younger here. ”**

**“ Nope! Just doing some spring cleaning’s all. Incoming! ”**

As if it were behind a dam that’d broken, nigh-every ounce of hair threw itself through the window, stopping just above the green grass below. With its appearance, Alfyn’s guardian, there ever since the days he was born, holds on to the strands, and Alfyn pulls up above the backwoods canopy in minutes, just as if time had rewound the past back in.

**“ Well, ‘ye weren’t lying earlier, Alfyn – this tower sure does look cleaner than b’fore. You’ve done pretty well since. ”** he draws back his hood and Alfyn takes it, hanging it up next to his scarf on the nearby racks.

**“ Aw, shucks, it’s only one of the things I do every day- ”**

**“ Every other** **_week,_ ** **almost, ”** he nags -

**“ I do it every other week, like a lot of other things! I could do a lot better, I think, but – well, I’ve had a lot on my mind. ”** Alfyn sifts through the drawers, pulling up a chair as he does and combing things off the table as best he can.  **“C’mon, don’t you have a better story to tell, or anything else, Darius? ”**

There’s silence, and then his words begin to drawl.  **“ Oh, of course I do, Alfyn. Here. ”** After some shifting in his bag, he produces a small seat of vials, each wrapped and sealed tight.  **“ Essences for plums’n pomegranates. You’d asked a while ago, I know, but it took that long to find ‘em. They’re not exactly spring bloomers like yerself. ”**

The vials drop into Alfyn’s palm; he holds each up gingerly in his hand as he does.  **“ … Thanks. ”**

The two of them stay in silence for a while. Darius has never been one for talking, compared to him when he wants to burst at the seams – as he so wants to now. The vials rub together in his hand, and he turns to one of the walls, focused on one the makeshift papers he’s cobbled together.

**“ So, speaking of that… ”**

He glances for Darius’s attention, which seems to have been appropriately gathered, and then continues.  **“ You know, it’s my birthday. Tomorrow. ”**

**“ Always on it, eh? And ‘yer twenty-first one, at that. Time really flies in these woods. ”**

(  _ It never does. He’s counted on his fingers and on the papers on the walls every day, waiting to ask for his dream to come true, and eventually waiting to not be declined. He’s filled the time he’s waited with anything that’ll pass the time, and hoped that his chances will bloom before what he can do runs dry. _

_ He’s remembered doing it for sixteen years straight, every single day of his life. And now, after twenty-one years, his dream is a flower that’s started wilting before it even grew.  _ )

He shakes off the thoughts. He can’t falter, not now; he has to try.  **“ I wanted to ask for my birthday, like I did last time–”**

And before he can even gesture at it, in the blue or the white sky, Darius  _ knows. _  He stands, making a start towards the window again, and the new sense of foreboding makes his heart sink.  **“ The answer’s** **_no,_ ** **Alfyn. ”**

**“ Darius, I’m an adult and I’ve trained, I’m** **_more_ ** **than capable of handling myse- ”**

**“ D’ya ever** **_learn,_ ** **mate? ”** He barks and turns, staring at him point blank.  **“ Get it through your head, for once - if you take one step out of this tower, you’ll be attacked and left for dead. The world won’t give two shits if you have long, golden hair or know how t’read and draw, it’ll kill you for just** **_existing!_ ** **Now why’s that so hard to understand, huh? What’s so important about watching some fires or fireflies migrate every year out of this tower? ”**

The silence comes back and it comes hard, almost pulling away the words caught in Alfyn’s throat for good. Letters stumble as he thinks of something, anything, whatever he can think of, just to stop the incoming sour note.

And then, he looks towards his room, picturing the curious man stuffed away behind the doors, and he gets an idea. A brilliant one, even if it’s foolish and irrational to anyone else, but an idea nonetheless - he just has to set it.

And he does.  **“ Well… nothing! It’s not what I meant to ask, anyways. ”**

**“ Oh? What was it, then? ”**

**“ Uh… ”** barely registering it, Alfyn turns away, looking through the shelves (  _ sans the one less prodded, _ ) for a good enough excuse. He needs something that’ll keep him out for a few days’ time, something he’d genuinely be interested in at another time — and then he finds it sloughed away under other salves and jars, dust and petals converged and bound in a small, metal tin. He twists off the cap, showing the inside to the other, still filled whole with paste.  **“ Remember the flower I used for this? ”**

**“ Ah, yeah. Those curious blooms. What about them? ”**

**“ Well! I’ve been finding that combin’ things with it works out pretty darn well, so I figured seeing if I can improve it wouldn’t hurt! Thing is, I ran out some time ago, so I don’t think I can do that. ”**

Darius’ eyes narrow, his vision wavering from him to the window, until he lets out a great sigh. **“ …Alfyn. You know, it’s ‘cause all those flowerets are hard to find, right? ”** But Alfyn looks on, as stubborn as he can, until his guardian finally gives in.  **“ It’ll take a few days, but I can do that for you. ”**

He’s done it. He’s really done it.

**“ …Thanks – thank you. Thank you** **_so much,_ ** **”** he almost gasps, every sense washing over him at once.  **“ Do – are you gonna need anything? Say, medicines, clothing, a fixin’ up here, somethin’ else — ”**

He takes a step towards the others’ bag before he shakes his head.  **“ Just the bag and the travel down. ‘ll be fine. ”** Alfyn throws the bag, and Darius catches it, before pulling his cloak over himself and holding to the sill.  **“ Let your hair down one last time before your birthday, will you? ”**

He nods in response, immediately hoisting his hair up above and letting it drop feet from the green grass below. The other takes hold of the hair, slowly making his way down with the knots and tangles, and eventually reaches the ground.

He looks up toward the window, and their eyes connect for a second. Alfyn tries his damn hardest to give him a smile, and Darius doesn’t take long to do the same.

And then, with one last call, he departs.

**“ Take care! ”**

He waves until the other’s figure disappears through the forest — and then, without any hesitation, he runs, hair flying upwards as fast as he can.

In the meager time he has, he knows, he has something he has to do.

* * *

Therion opens his eyes and promptly screws them shut again.

The sun, still high up in the air, only worsens his sight and groggy awakening — and filtering it out would be _lovely,_  sure, and really a pleasant idea. Actually, no – it’s a great plan he would put into motion immediately to prelude a daring escape if his hands weren’t tied back and bound.

( _Lovely,_  ) he utters. ( _There’s royalty in this tower after all, and they just don’t need saving from someone else._ )

Two hands suddenly pull the window doors shut, and for once, the world is silent – save for the sound of heavy footsteps around him. He sits back ever the quieter, eyes waiting to adjust to the darkness until they do. Someone towers over him, a hand tipping the chair back, and he tries damn hard to stare back at the barely-visible whites of their eyes without any worry or fear.

**“ Y’know, ‘yer the first stranger who’s ever climbed this tall tower. ”** Perhaps the attempts at concealment go both ways, though terribly for the other: it sounds forced and shaky, growingly uncomfortable by the words and tones that result.

**“ It’s a whole day for firsts, huh? Maybe they should add me to a world records b– ”**

A candle lights. Wood hits wood and the flame burns bright under Therion’s eyes, just far enough that his whole person doesn’t ebb away like wax but sudden enough to shut him up.

 **“ Y’cant dance around it forever! Darius told me none ever find this tower unless they’re searching for it. ”** The name’s unfamiliar, but the silhouette seems dead persistent on the thought, pushing the edge of the counter closer to his face. **“ So, tell me, stranger: just** **_why_ ** **are you here? ”**

Therion’s grin is the last thing illuminated in the light before he blows it out with a hiss.

( _Good on you, Therion. Maybe if you annoy or butter up to them enough, they’ll leave you alone._ )

He clears his throat and tries to speak again, taking the airs and sorrow of a traveler with better morals than his own. **“ Don’t you have any shame or mercy? I was chased through the woods by thieves and found no protection anywhere but this tower - and so I climbed as fast as I could. Now, if that’s not reason enough to clear my name -- ”**

**“ Thieves, eh? Are ya sure y’ain’t one of those tea leaves yourself? ”**

The facade breaks at their words. **“ So,** **_one,_** **did you just say you ai–”**

 **“ I grew up with it! ”** they reply fast and flustered, and Therion can feel the metal pressed to his neck. **“ Answer the question! ”**

 **“ Okay, okay,** **_two,_** **I’m not. I’m** **_devastated_ ** **you can’t believe me, mystery keeper, I truly am. I mean, I already trust you, and I haven’t even seen your face. ”**

**“ …Really? ”**

Their voice falters. Therion gives a mental chuckle to himself, and looks up to the other, the lie falling fast from his throat. **“ I swear on my life. ”**

The silence is deafening. Only their breaths cause an uproar through its middle, and he can feel those eyes staring straight where he should be.

And then, in seconds, the tower gives way to light.

The curtains shed, the window pushes open, and his attention tugs from the reappearing sun to the chains that have him bound, more visible illuminated by the royalties of the sun. It wraps around, and he squints at the cords dragged about the floor, until he realizes — no, mouth half gaping wide already, that _can’t_ be, even when the ground thuds and the strands pull seemingly taut and lead to only one origin —

**“ I don’t think you want to swear by that if you treasure what’s in here, sir. ”**

Stood just next to the open window is a man whose hair seems spun from cords of straw to gold, so great and winding that they are the only thing save for the sun that won’t let him save the weighty satchel so precariously left in the air.

The sky frames enough of his face and his hair in the light to show his eyes narrowed, gaze as far downward as the corners of his mouth curl.

Ah, gods. He knows, he definitely does, the fold clearly unclasped and kicking in his grasp, and he’s completely caught Therion in whatever trap he’s set. But he can’t give in to that - not when proving a point doesn’t seem like the only thing this strange interrogator wants.

 **“ A thief, ”** he starts, not a single beat missed, **“ his identity always blurred and distant, alike a** **_wild animal._  ** **Always derisive an’ untrustworthy. Last seen with a violet scarf. Capture or kill on sight. ”**

It takes another once-over for the stranger to look him in the eyes again and speak. **“ That’s what the news says, right? What if ‘yer just here t’cut my hair, and then sell it off, even when it won’t shine? ”**

It won’t shine? See, he doesn’t even remember hearing about hair  _ this _ strong and this long, or as weird as he claims it to be, and he sure doesn’t think he could’ve cut it if he tried.  **“ Okay, listen — I get that I just lied to you. I’ve done my fair share of crime. But, and I’m saying the truth, I've never heard of your hair, nor have I ever** **_seen_ ** **it before. But what I had there, that satchel, I don’t think you really understand what’s there. ”**

**“ Is it? Ain’t it the thing that put you on the spot in the first place? ”** The satchel sways ever menacingly, now, and he’s sure — if the other has seen what’s in there, then he knows - they both know - it’ll shatter apart. After all, not even royal heirlooms were indestructible, unless one used magic to bind them about.  **“ Wouldn’t that be a shame? It’d be pointless to capture you when the thing they want is long gone. ”**

**“ Oh, believe me - I’m suspect for a** **_lot_ ** **of stolen goods in the kingdom. A lot of nobles would** **_adore_ ** **my head on a platter about now if they knew what it looked like. ”** A beat skips. He risks and lie again. **“ It’ll cost all of us nothing to throw that crown off the side of this tower, you know. It’s not worth the threats. ”**

The man looks to the satchel abruptly, his eyes with a stark realization of… of something. Therion can’t quite tell what, but he’ll relish in the best possible outcome.

 **“ Ah, sorry about that. ”** ( _The man mumbles something under his breath._ ) **“ It’s disheartening to see your plans go down the drain, isn’t it? ”** ( _Something about knowing, something about him and the crowd and gods, Therion doesn’t have_ time _to listen -_ ) **“ If I could just get out of your hair now, then - ”**

 **“ I** **_knew_ ** **it. ”**

 **“ … ”** oh, he doesn’t like where this is going at _all._   **“ Uh… sorry, but** **_what_ ** **did you know? ”**

 **“ Oh, uh - nothin’! ”** he startles, the straps of the satchel nearly slipping out of his grasp for a moment. The two of them tense, the other gripping hard to the satchel before it can fall any further. **“ Er… a few things, actually. One’s not important, y’know, but the other - well, even if the world ain’t gonna care about this crown, you will, right? ”**

 **“** **_Hah_ ** **\- no way. I just told you, it’s not worth – ”**

The man slowly unfolds his palm, letting the straps slip lower and lower past his fingers, eyes intent on every jerk of Therion’s nerves, until --

 **“** **_Don’t drop that damned satchel!_** **”**

The words fly faster than the satchel can even fall, instead lifting it up a bit in the air before any hands can grab it again. When the man turns, he faces him not with that same frown he bore before, but something more smug, almost a grin towards him that _radiates_ complete and utter pride.

Ah. So _this_ was the buildup to his plan.

Great. Fuck.

**“ So you** **_do_ ** **care! I was beginning to believe you for a sec, but then that just meant I could return it myself. See, I realized when you slept the day off, both of us** **_really_ ** **want something here, and we both need the other to do it. ”**

**“ And that is… what, to be announced next year? I’m not getting any younger here. ”**

**“ Well - ”** he freezes, just for a moment, before yanking the satchel out of the open air and continuing. **“ You need t’get this satchel back. You also need out of that seat, and probably a good stretch. You can do the last one on your own, but you can’t do the other two without me, right? ”** Patting off any dust from his pants and his boots, he starts to walk, gathering up his hair and loosening some of the binds around his captive as he does. **“ I need something just as important as that, and I have to do it now. ”**

The man gathers whatever hair he needs to to move around, throwing it or lifting it from its hoists around the room, and Therion cranes his neck to watch - if it weren’t so off-topic and not useful to ask how he grew all of that for the past  _ however _ long that he’s been around, he might’ve just given in to his curiosity and gotten some incredulous answer. Eventually, the loops round his hands give way, and his shoulders push forward again with a small crack. He takes a great exhale as they do, and leans forward in the chair for a few moments, before opting to get up and walk, poring through the base floor of his surroundings.

Shelves. It’s the first thing he notices. If the other’s really been living here, than this place has really tidied into something of a home, though he wouldn’t call it that with the death drop just a few paces away. There are books to the brim in some of them, plain paper in others, ferns and flora catching what sunlight they can wherever he’s had the ability to place and maintain them, and some other things he can’t quite recognize on the walls and through the curtains; the list of what he doesn’t have would be miniscule compared to what he does. It all seems relatively plain otherwise, though, most of the wall a consistent coat and pattern, save for a few dots and words he can see scrawled in nooks and crannies.

If there’s anything else of note to see, he doesn’t find it: footsteps thud back through the tower, eventually ending a few steps behind him.

**“Oh! The ties gave way, huh? Guess I should’ve watched for that.”**

Watched? Therion doesn’t see the point in that, not when he’s already convinced him to do… whatever he wants him to do in the next few minutes. The satchel lays around the other’s shoulder, but he’s not too sure if he could just pluck the bag off his back and make a run for it from the other’s innumerable lengths of hair. Regardless, the other doesn’t seem to pay mind to those thoughts, flipping quickly through a book instead. Therion rises up as high as he can to see part of it, not bothering to ask why he needs to keep his arms as high off the ground as the tips of his hair, and sees pictures instead of words - sketches like the dots and words on the walls, of something, nearly _anything_ he’s already seen in the past minutes. Eventually, he stops turning the pages, pushing the book into Therion’s hands to let him see for himself.

It doesn’t take long for him to discern just _what_ it is, either. Every darkened line and stroke is neat and precise, an accurate representation of…

 **“ The lanterns? ”** his eyes gain the same bright sparkle they did in mentioning the crown, and he tries to pretend he didn’t notice. **“ They’re here every year. Why do you care if you can see them from up here? ”**

**“ W-well - ‘cause it’s different! They aren’t just here every year; for me, they're aired the same day I was born! Darius - he told me he wouldn’t Adam and Eve it, that those were just fireflies and not lights of their own, so I couldn’t go out to see them, but this - ”** he takes a shaky breath -  **“ this changes** **_everything._ ** **”**

**“ So, how about it? It won’t last more’n a day or two, and then you can get your satchel and be on your way! ”**

Therion considers it, trying not to shrink under the man’s presence as he does. This is a situation that he wouldn’t be in if the other weren’t so gullible and trusting of… whatever good he saw in some thief that broke into his home, so it’d be easy to trick again; he could steal the satchel at night, make a break for it…

Ugh, but he’s obviously at a disadvantage here, and for more reasons than a weak heart. Therion might not last long against the guards if they’re in the forest, and the other could perhaps accost him in seconds. ( _Really, how someone this tall and so unfit to the smaller circumstances and unknown situation he lived in wound up here, he still can’t really tell._ ) Plus…

For a few seconds, he looks up at the other, making contact with eyes that’ve seemed to stare a long, long while. In the end, he breaks it first, tugging at his own scarf instead.

**“ Fine. I’ll go with you. ”**

His beam emanates so much emotion it feels hot on his hair. **“ But only however long it takes. Then I’m taking my things and leaving. Got it? ”**

The other nods. **“ Yep! Just give me a sec to get ready, and I’ll be out then. I’ll be bringing the satchel, if that’s okay? ”**

**“ Sure, whatever. I’m climbing down. ”**

**“ Oh, wait - what’s your name? ”**

Therion turns, eyes narrowed in the other’s former position at the windowsill.

**“ Why? ”**

**“ Well, Why, it’s ‘cause I wanna call you something for the time we’re together! If it helps, I’ll tell mine first - it’s Alfyn, just that. ”**

Alfyn. Alfyn, who knocks people off their feet into sleep for a few hours; who threatens everything their life stands for in less than a day; who’s never taken one step out of this tall tower in his life; who wants to see the lanterns on a coincidental birthday -

**“ It’s Therion. Nothing more. ”**

**“ Therion. ”** Alfyn repeats, still beaming like before. **“ It’s nice to really greet you! Sorry about the first impressions. ”** He takes a few jars and plants off a lower shelf, before turning back to look at him. **“ I’ll see you down there in a few, and we can get a do-over of all of that, right? ”**

 **“ …Right, ”** Therion says, finding himself unusually genuinely nodding to the thought of it - and as he catches himself from doing it any further, he descends down the rocks of the tower below.

( _He really wonders, only for a second, if he’ll get used to this sense before their journey ends._ )

* * *

Okay, so, itinerary for traveling out for the first time: unwritten, undecided, never asked to Darius —

Oh, gods, Alfyn  _ definitely _ didn’t plan this beforehand.

It’s probably because he’d never entertained the thought of leaving this tower before, even when he’d seen the outside world clear in his mind. But now, it’s really there – the chance to finally leave for even a day, to stop seeing the world like a painting framed by a window – it’s really there, hovering right over his hands, and he can take it, nothing there to hold him back.

He packs stored foods and tinned salves, everything novels had ever told travelers to bring, and sets each one on the table to remember. When he’s done, he runs to the long lorn satchel, and pulls it from the straps down.

The clasp opens; the poster sweeps downward, and the crown nearly clatters to the ground, only barely caught in his hands and a rushed swear.

…What does he do with this? Oh, sure, he could bring it, but would Therion steal it from him while asleep, and make like a thief in the night?

… No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Something in Alfyn just  _ knows _ he could trust him, regardless of profession or appearance or anything flustering about him. But there’s something –  _ something _ else to attribute to it whether he brings it or not. He stares at it, watching his face reflected and fractured in the stones, and… 

He couldn’t. It’d be disrespectful to whoever really wore it.

(  _ And yet, _ ) his mind whispers, lingering on his shoulders, ( nobody  _ would know. _ )

…Just this once.

He raises the crown and turns to a nearby mirror, and places it square atop his head. 

Just this once, he stares, frozen by the reflection just as surprised back, and utterly entranced at the aside that he himself looked like a prince. His hair frames him like the window and the mirror, wraps around his body and, for a moment, almost  _ glows _ as it has before —

**“ Hey, your** **_royal highness—_ ** **”** a voice calls, and the name nearly makes Alfyn jump out of his skin—  **“ Are you really gonna take a whole afternoon to pack the** **_entire_ ** **tower? You don’t need that much to see the lanterns! ”**

**“ Sorry! ”** he calls back down, and wraps the crown back into the purse. In goes the rest of his belongings, much smaller than what Therion’d teased.  **“ Just – hold on! ”**

Okay, okay. Medicine? Check. Food? Check. The crown? Check! And, everything else…?

Yeah, check. Definitely.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He’s got this.

With a great inhale, Alfyn throws his hair across the windowsill, and lets it drape from the tops down. He looks at the green grass and at Therion, waiting impatiently (  _ though for a moment, he notices, quite surprised _ ) as every strand hovers above the ground. He balances on the window’s edge, hand lingering moments from his hair.

(  _ He remembers Darius telling him never to leave. That there was danger in every neck of the woods, people who could kill him if they caught wind of him, and people who could use and use him till he bled dry. _

_ But if staying safe and staying where he trusts means never fulfilling those wilting dreams, then — _ )

He lets out his held breath, and for the first time in his life, he holds to his hair like his dream and steps from the tower grounds.

Here he goes.

The bag barely hangs along at his side as he slides down from the tower; Therion must be looking, now, watching him descend with a whoop and great glee. Perhaps it’s odd to him, then, watching someone around his age and yet taller than him sweep from the tower with so much joy, but the notion doesn’t cross his mind, not until he reaches inches above the ground.

The grass, he decides, boots brushing up against each blade, can be described a lot more than just verdant green.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer idk how to write alfyn or darius very well. or h'aanit. i can't write any of their accents and alfyn is the only one of the three i'd rp. whoops
> 
> should i write more of this... i wonder. i wasn't gonna but i felt weird ending it like this. a strange sense of pride for writing so much for 1/6 worth of the movie, i suppose?  
> (and, yes... i know. i rearranged two or so events and cut out the entire prologue. i don't like writing aus word-for-word, and this was also meant to be a much looser 1k word drabble.
> 
> obviously, that didn't happen.)
> 
> usually i ask [erika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androidian/) to beta this but she's my partner in au crime and also any [implied gay stuff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404495/) i've posted in 2019 so far so i wanted to surprise her to some degree Again. but she did help with a lot of alfyn's stuff b/c i'm only good at writing up to 50% of his character
> 
> u can always contact me at my tumblr, [here](http://noisedrift.tumblr.com) @noisedrift, or my personal twt (more active) [@hoshikodou](https://twitter.com/hoshikodou) !! thank you for reading, y'all!!


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